


A Wolf's Bride

by CrowsandCooks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fortune Telling, Girl!Deaton, M/M, Magic, bamf....everyone basically, cause why the fuck not?, fantasy?, original female character of colour - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsandCooks/pseuds/CrowsandCooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your plan will work." she said her eyes on Chris who stood behind his father.  The boredom was evident on her face. "I have one warning though, whatever you do, do not eat food from a wolf's bride."</p>
<p> "A wolf's bride?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wolf's Bride

**Author's Note:**

> This took me so long to do. The idea was based on a scene I had in my head and the funny thing is that the scene is not even in the story. Fail I know but I'm just glad I finished it. Touchdown! \\(￣-￣)/

The room was small and cramped with cabinets looming over them, shelves filled with dusty jars, faded wooden boxes, bright coloured bottles and other unusual items. The chandelier hanging above had dark purple and black ribbons of cloth stretched across to the corners of the ceiling.  He stared in awe of the lit candles that were encased in clear jar bottles.  The faded red oak floors creaked under his feet as he stepped closer, try to interpret the black and green paint splashed across the ceilings surface.  
  
A cough brought him out of his thoughts; he glanced to see the two other occupants in the room watching him. An elder man stood there with a grimace and a young woman stared at him with a wry smirk.  
  
"Chris" he said, irritation laced in his voice. It was amazing how well he knew his father; in that one word alone he heard the not so hidden message. 'Don't make us have to stay any longer than we have to.' His father turned to the young woman who sat at the table, a deck of cards in her hands. She began to shuffle the deck with a sort of casual laziness as if they no longer existed, or even existed to begin with.  
  
She was a lean woman with dark brown skin and bright blue eyes; she glanced at his father then back at the cards.  Gerard sat at the table. She smirked, her hands never ceased in their activity.

  
"What do you want?" she asked.

  
"Is that how you speak to your customers?" he demanded, fury itching to set aflame his words rather than the held back heat it produced. She smirked again, the mockery evident in the curl of her pale pink painted lips.

"People come to me when they want something. And if they can pay, they get it. How I speak and how they feel is no concern of mine." she answered with false sweetness. She spread the deck across the table. "So hunter, what do you want?"

Before his father could answer, his face turning red with every word she spoke, Chris cut in,

  
"You already know what we want, -"

  
 In a swift movement, she grabbed a dagger from under her skirt and stabbed the middle of the table. The sound was deafening, she placed a finger on her lips, "Shhhh," she smiled, madness dancing in her eyes like flames, "some things should not be said by a mere mortal's lips."  
  
Chris nodded. Gerard looked between them, unimpressed. She laughed and leaned back, the blade still in the table. "Very well, hunter" she yawned, gesturing at his father, "I will answer your question." She slid three cards from the spread, she flipped the first one. Strange symbols were on it rather than images, she frowned. She flipped the second one over, a smile on her face when she examined it. Her face became impassive when she read the third one. She leaned back,

  
"Your plan will work." she said her eyes on Chris who stood behind his father.  The boredom was evident on her face. "I have one warning though, whatever you do, do not eat food from a wolf's bride."

 

  
"A wolf's bride?"

 

  
"A human mate," Chris interjected, feeling his father's eyes on him he continued, "That's what they are called. A mate of a wolf that remains human."

 

She smiled, "Very vicious." she packed the cards up, "More vicious than an enraged alpha." Gerard gave her a dubious look, "Oh yes, it is amazing what a human is capable of when protecting something they love. And when bonded to a wolf, such a thing just intensifies by a thousand. But you would know that, wouldn't you?" Gerard slammed the table,

 

"We'll keep that in mind." he all but snarled. Her reply was a lazy smile.

 

As they trekked through the forest, his father broke the silence,

 

"What was her price?"

 

Chris shook his head, the bracelet felt heavy in his pocket, "Nothing important"

 

"Did you tell her about Al-"

 

 "No."

 

"Then how did she-"

 

"I. Don't. Know."  He stated.  Gerard glanced at his son's shaking hands, he let it go. They continued to the camp, where twenty to thirty hunters waited for them.  

 

x

 

 It started with letters.

 

He had found them a month after the funeral. He was looking for a key (was it a key?) in his father's desk when he found them bundled together with a string.

 

Letters from Kate to Gerard

 

He read them, his body still numb; they were about a small village filled with wolves and humans that lived as a pack. He read them all, a cold sweat down his spine, they detailed her plans. Her plans of seduction, her plans for the slaughter,

 

"A fire would be most efficient way" she wrote her diction colder than ice.

 

She had no qualms about killing the humans, even less about killing the children. Chris wanted to vomit; he did not know what was more sickening. That his sister was going to do this or that Gerard encouraged her. He even went as far as to explain how to set a village on fire, how to ensure that they did not escape and other 'helpful' pointers. She thanked him and declared how she would make him proud. That was the last letter received from Kate, and that was three years ago.

 

But it explained so much.

 

The first year of no contact from Kate, it was evident, that his father thought she was just laying low for a while. But after the second year passed by in silence, he began to search for information. There was nothing at first, and then it came.  The news of a woman's body being torn apart and bits of her found in a forest, the family insignia found on the ring still on her severed finger.

  
It was a failure.

  
He should have mourned for the loss of his sibling. But he could no longer feel real sorrow.  The death of his wife had changed everything.  His father, on the other hand, was furious. Retribution was demanded, and he started to plan. He would succeed where his daughter failed.   

Using Kate's letters and information from sources unknown to Chris, Gerard was able to pin point an idea where the village would be. He began to gather hunters from neighbouring parts of the country. It was not an army but enough to overtake a village, wolves or not.  He armed them and trained them, sharpening their skills. He spared no expense.  He could not afford to lose; the Argent reputation was on the line.

It was Chris's idea to see the fortune teller. Well, she was not really a fortune teller. At least he didn't think so; she had a different feel than any seer he had ever met. He could not comprehend it or explain it.  He had heard about her from wagging tongues, had seen what she was capable of.  At first his father was against it, he had no need for a charlatan. But over time he agreed.  

The men were in good humour as they began to pack their things, putting out the fire, readying themselves to leave camp. Only Chris remained sullen, nervousness and anxiousness shook his core, he flung the grey wolf pelt over his shoulders. He could not wait for this to be over and done with.

 

                            xx

  
The hunters were split into groups of seven led by an eighth as their leader personally picked by Gerard.  Each group were numbered and when travelling was positioned in the order of their number. They had their own fire, campsite and their own food. Chris was in the fifth group and to everyone's surprise; he was not chosen to be a leader.  
  
It was in the third week of the first month of their journey when he met her. They were in the Western Forest; the sun was bright and hot as they travelled. Chris was behind the group when they came across a little decrepit shack.

  
A young black girl sat on the ground in front of it, wearing a faded red dress and bare feet. She was staring at the ground. When they walked passed, she would glance at them but judging by the look on her face, she deemed them unimportant and went back to the ground. She was treated with the same interest in return. Only Chris stopped, reaching in his pocket, he offered her the black and red bracelet that he was given months ago.  
  
She stared at his opened hand, "She kept her promise..."she whispered in a fragile tone. He did not have a chance to reply before she jumped up and hugged him. She looked up at him, soft brown eyes, "What will you be to me?" she asked.  
  
It took him a moment to find his voice, "Your father." she beamed at his answer. He took her up and carried her; a few men looked at them but said nothing. She rested her head on his shoulders.

  
"What's your name?" he asked.

  
"Alan."

 

  
"Alan?"

 

She nodded, "I am named after those who came before me and that will be the name of those who come after me." She did not say it like a child repeating something drilled in her head. She said it with such confidence, like it was common knowledge, like he had asked her what colour the sky was.    
  
His father came to him that night when they had finished set up camp.  Alan was sleeping in his tent, wrapped up in the pelt, the fire creating flickering shadows across her face. "What is that?" he all but snarled, pointing at the child.  
  
"The payment." he answered, checking the pot over the fire pit, he should wake her up soon. He needed to find out the last time she ate something, they might not have time in the morning. He was well aware of the subtle eyes and clean ears around them,

 

"You didn't feel the need to tell me? You actually thought this wasn't important enough to mention?"

  
Chris shrugged, “I’m going to keep my word."

 

Gerard glared Alan then at his son, "Do as you wish, but if she gets in the way..." the threat went unspoken. With that, he stormed off, fury trailing behind him like smoke.

  
Chris woke her up and as she ate, he whispered to her stories of her 'Papa' and her elder sister.

  
                            xxx

 

The meat began to rot and on the bread mold began to grow. Months of food wasted before them. It took some time to calm the hunters down, for them to listen to reason, to ignore the obvious signs appearing before their very eyes. They hunted, but it was never enough, hunger still gnawed at them. Tension rose among them like stifling black smoke. Chris watched them carefully, ignoring the pans in his own stomach, and held Alan closer.  
  
The men were getting antsy, it was easy to tell, the days went by and they were itching to kill something. Many of them were suspicious of Alan, most of them did not know the reason why she was there, Gerard did not clarify and Chris would not say. He could feel their eyes on her when they glimpsed her in his arms or wandering around the camp (never too far from his sight). He heard them whisper their suspicions, wondering if he was enchanted by this creature that may have brought this sudden bad luck. Some of them were a bit more sympathetic,

  
  
" _Didn't you know?_ " they would whisper as if he could not hear them, " _Lost his daughter to the wolf_ " The wolf that killed his wife went unsaid.

  
  
He gave her a small hunter's knife; the blade was black and sharp and taught her how to use it. He taught her how to kill and skin a deer, told her where the best places to aim if attacked (groin, stomach, throat, eyes). Alan took this all with a cheerful calm he had grown used to. She was hardly upset and she never complained about the lack of food. She treated everything like it was an adventure, a way to learn new things. It was too precious sometimes. She was so different from Allison. Allison was like the sun shining brightly, Alan was more like the moon.  
  
She was sitting in his lap, the knife hidden in her new boots; he had made them from the skin of a deer he hunted. (Said deer was made into a thin soup to share throughout the camp.) But it was not enough to full their stomachs. The night was cold and silent, nothing but the murmurs of men and the crackling of the fire. They did not speak; they just sat and listen to the beats of their hearts.  They did not miss the sudden crunch of the leaves when a lone hunter approaches them with the smell of sweet liquor on her skin,

"Gerard calls for you." she said. Chris nodded; he stood, still holding her in his arms. He had not spoken to his father since the confrontation about Alan. The woman raised her hands,

  
  
"Just you. He asks that you leave the child."

  
  
"Very well" He put her down, wrapping the pelt around her shoulder properly, "Remember what I told you?" he asked softly.

  
  
Alan smiled, "If they come anywhere near me, poke their guts out with a knife." she 'accidentally' said out loud. The response was a tensed silence, the others looking at her with a mixture of amusement and caution. He smiled back and kissed her on the cheek before following the hunter. As they make their way to Gerard's tent, she asked him,

 

"Is she to replace your daughter?" He shook his head,

 

"My daughter can never be replaced."

  
                            xxxx

 

He walked into the tent, the group glanced at him, some acknowledged him, and others did not. Gerard was in the middle, his hands on the map laid on the table's surface, he gestured at his son, his eyes never leaving drawings. Chris walked towards them; they parted, making a space for him to stand beside his father.  It seemed the scouts had found a campsite, empty but there was evidence that someone was still dwelling there.  
  
"Probably left to search for herbs or game. The scouts said they found a large pot of water on the fire," he said, scratching his chin. He looked at Chris, a saturnine grin on his face, “We’ll 'visit' him tomorrow." Chris stared at the man; this was not information that needed to be told face to face.  He was not like the other hunters who stood around them. He did not lead a group nor did he have any position of authority. So why did he need to be here?

  
"Ah," he exhaled, "I see."

  
Gerard hummed in response as if Chris was agreeing with him. But Chris knew his father, could see the smugness in his eyes. Chris only smiled, there must have been something frightening in it because the air became tense and hands began to grip their weapons and tightened.  He pretended not to notice, "Is that all?" he asked.  
  
When he came back to his tent, Alan was not there, only torn cloths and blood. He glanced around the fire before speaking,

  
"Where is Alan?"

  
No one answered. A few hunters clutched at their bandaged stomachs when Chris' eyes laid on them. He nodded then walked away between the trees and into the darkness.  

  
  
He found her eventually, at least a hundred yards, in a clearing, hidden in the thick branches of a tree, the same tree he showed her days ago. He whistled,

  
"Daddy?"

  
"Jump, Ann"

  
She did, without hesitation, the pelt flowing behind her; he caught her with an 'umph'. She clutched at him, her body shaking, "They're not very smart." she said, her voice trembled slightly, "There was so much blood." He hugged her,  
   
"They couldn't follow you." he explained, "Too dangerous." He tightened his hug, pulling her closer, but she would be safe. He petted the pelt, she would be safe. As they walked back, Alan spoke again, “While I was waiting, I saw a man." Chris tensed,

  
"A man?"

  
She nodded, "He called to me," she whispered, "He told me that he would take me somewhere safe."  

 

"What did he look like?" he asked, she shook her head,

 

"He was wearing a red mantle with the hood up. I couldn't see his face and he had long club in his hands." she stretched her hands apart as far as they could, "It was this biiiig" she stated, "He talked a lot."

 

Chris exhaled, "Huh." he rained kisses her on the face, she swat at him and giggled, "Would you like me to tell you a story when we get back?" he enquired, she nodded. "What do you want it to be about?"

  
  
"Tell me a story about Ally." she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. He chuckled,

  
"Alright"  
                        

Alan could be clever, he noted with amusement. She glanced at the hunters and smirked, a taunt with the slight arch of her eyebrows.  He could feel the fear leaking from them before she turned to him, speaking to him like nothing happened. Like she did not just mock and intimidate a group of armed hunters several decades her senior. The unknown was powerful tool to wield, he realised, but it is a double edged sword.  
  
He poked her in the cheek, she smiled. "Time for bed, little one," he chuckled, "You've had a rough night."

  
"It wasn't that bad, I just ran a little."

  
"Uh-huh."

He scooped her up, she smelt of forest and something else, a little bit of him and something blended in. A scent that was slowly fading. "When can we go home, daddy?" she asked, her voice soft and exhausted. He placed a kiss on her head,  his thoughts go back to his father's plans, to the five leaders around the table, their soldiers hungry and antsy, to the fading scent of comfort that clung to their skins and answered,

"Tomorrow."  

  

                            xxxxx

 

 Everything had a price, and no one knew this fact better than Alan.  
  
 She didn't remember much of her earlier life; her first lucid memory was the witch. She was a powerful creature, Alan could feel it in the way the air shifted around her, it was an old power that inked itself into her skin. Madness burnt in her eyes when she spoke to Alan, making her an offer to the young girl who stood before her. She told Alan her name but stopped her when Alan tried to repeat it,

  
  
"Some things should not be said by a mere mortal's lips" the witch grinned, "So do we have a deal?"

  
  
What the price was, Alan could not remember but it was obvious the longer she thought about it. Alan had given up her memories. **Every single one.**

   
  
She looked up at Chris who met her eyes with a smile. She hummed in content, it was fine though. She would just have to make new ones. She paused then glanced at the young man beside them, ignoring the shouts of delights that surrounded them. He seemed to be seething behind that carefree grin; she could smell it like the thin smoke from a pipe.  She spoke,

"If you hurt my father..." he turned to her, a surprised look on his face, “I make you into pelt."

 

Chris admonished her, "Alan! What did I say about speaking like that?" She stared at her feet, knocking the boots together, feeling quite put out. Sighing, she restated,

  
  
"If you hurt my father, I will make you into a pelt” Chris rubbed her head.

  
  
"That's my girl"

 

The young man said nothing. He said his name was Stiles, said it with a cheerful grin when they asked, after they tied him up and threatened him. He had given up without a fight, not there was much he could have done. But he was not in any harm's way, after all, there was only one thing they really wanted and it had become theirs. The big pot of sweet smelling stew that bubbled on the fire.  
  
It was enough to feed every single one of them, maybe enough to get seconds. ("Why do you have so much?" Gerard had asked, flicking his wrist. Stiles shrugged, ignoring the pain of his split lip, "Wasn't going to be home for a very long time." was his answer). The afternoon was filled with shouts and excitement, as they began to share out the stew.  
  
A man came to Chris and offered him a bowl, still steaming, eyes on Alan with suspicion. Alan raised her hand to take it, the moment her hands made contact, the man let go and it fell and splashed her. In an instance, she burst into tears, her wails cut through the chatters leaving silence in its wake.  
  
Chris took her up, hushing her until her wails became silent sobs. He glared at the man. The hunter flinched,

  
"I'm going to the river" he stated, leaving the tensed silence behind them.

  
Alan watched him as he washed her dress; she was wearing his shirt, her feet in the running water and the knife in her hand. The pelt was on her shoulders, and though her face still red from crying earlier, she looked very serene. He left the dress on a large rock to dry in the sun and they sat underneath a tree.  
  
To pass the time, he told her stories, from witches who ran in the nights to fairies who created storms, until she fell asleep.  And then he waited.  
  
It was an hour before the first scream echoed then followed by another then another until they became too many to count. He exhaled, ignoring the churning of his stomach and the howls in woods. A twig snapped, he tensed, he could smell it.

  
 The smell of comfort and blood.

  
A large brown wolf came into view, blood dripping from his mouth, fangs gleaming in the sun. Chris stood up, Alan still slumbering in his arms; he shifted her so her head was on his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow,

  
"Really, Peter?" he rolled his eyes, "Always with the theatrics"

  
The wolf made a sound and shook its head as if to say 'heathen'. Skin and bones rearranged itself, until a human stood before them. He gave Chris a bloody smile, "Chris." He gestured at the sleeping child, "Is this?"

  
  
"Alan."

  
  
"Alan," Peter repeated, he paused before taking her from Chris. "She smells like us." Like how a cub _should_ smell. Of wolf and mate. He turned to Chris, the other looked happy but he could smell the grief. He grabbed his hands, "The poison was effective." he told him, "We just had to pick off one or two survivors...he didn't suffer."  Chris nodded, it was better this way but the guilt was still there. Hard and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He kissed Peter, licking blood of the corners of the man's lips and smiled, it was easier this time.  
  
Alan shifted, waking up slowly, trying to rub the sleep away. She looked took one look at Peter's blood covered face and grinned, recognition in her eyes

  
  
"Papa."

 

xxxxxx

 

Stiles was not afraid of Deaton.

  
  
Of course not.

  
  
That would be ridiculous...

  
  
Okay, so maybe a little.

  
  
And the fact that she was picking up habits from Lydia, her personal tutor, made her almost terrifying. Not that he would say it out loud, because to insinuate that there was something wrong with his precious daughter, was just begging to be ripped apart by Peter. So when he saw her in his kitchen with a knife, his first reaction was not to scream in manly terror...though he ends up doing it anyway. It was more out of fright than actual terror anyway, Derek is not home, his senses told him it was pack and there was no intent to kill. But seeing her standing there with the bloody knife in her hand and some of it splattered on her cheek was kinda scary (completely scary, like Lydia would be impressed scary).  
  
And Deaton being Deaton (bless her heart), did not call him out on his 'manly' battle cry. Instead she smiled, "Afternoon, Stiles," before throwing the meat into a pot of boiling water. He rubbed chest trying to get his heart rate back to normal,  
  
"Hey D," he replied, her name was really Alan but no one, but her parents, called her that for some reason. They all called her Deaton, where the nickname came from, depends on who you ask. He took a seat on the counter, a habit Derek despised, "What you doing here?" Not that he minds her being here or anything. Derek adored his little cousin and he could tell she felt the same way as well. The only person (other than Peter and Chris) that she probably adored more was Allison.  
  
"Daddy is mad at Papa." she started, "So I decided to make dinner here." In other words, they chased her out in order to properly rip each other apart. She poured a bowl of chopped herbs into it and stirred the pot. A succulent aroma took over the room. He sighed, and nodded to himself, he taught her well.

  
"What about?"

  
  
"Today is the anniversary of the thing."

  
Oh.  
  
No one really talked about it in Beacon Hills, more out of respect for Chris than anything else. It was fucked up when you thought about it, the man betrayed his last remaining family and basically led a group of people to their deaths.  They were hunters yes, but he guessed it was the principle of the thing for Chris.

  
  
"But why were they fighting?"

  
  
"Papa thinks that Daddy regrets it."

  
  
"Doesn't he?"

  
  
She stopped and turned to him, an amused look on her face (oh, that look was pure Peter), "No," she answered with such certainty as if he asked her what colour was the sky. "Daddy loves Papa too much and as a bride, he did what he must to protect his wolf...wouldn't you?"  
  
Stiles stared at her. He used to wonder about that, about Allison and Chris and how easily they spilled the blood, the blood of others, blood of their own family to protect something they used to hunt. Stiles was never in that situation, he was born in Beacon Hills, he grew up here. It was only when he thought of Kate and what she tried to do, did he understand. He would do anything to protect Derek and ripping that woman apart was nothing.  
  
"Daddy will remove Papa's doubts," she continued, “and then they will make up."  He did not disagree, she had a habit of always being right.  She put on the pot cover and, "And when they're finish, Derek will be home, they will come here for dinner with Scott and Ally because this is how we will celebrate today."

  
"So we're starting a tradition?" Based on the death of 'others'?

  
"Papa says it will be a a celebration of Life, of Love." she replied. And hours later, when there is a knock on the door and the familiar scent of  family and pack in the air, Stiles can't help but agree.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Whoot!! That was long like damn 
> 
> I have some more ideas and stories for this universe. I hope you enjoyed it and criticism is most welcome.


End file.
